He spent every Sunday at The House on the Hill, and yet he had this incredible gift for surprising me every week.
“Singapore? Huh?” I asked in reply like the ability to form sentences made up of multiple words had suddenly eluded me.
“It’s a simple question,” Lucifer informed me as he put down the Sunday paper and flicked a piece of lint off of the jacket of his impeccably tailored suit.
I walked over to the cooler, and slowly put the bottles of iced tea on ice.
“No, I have never been to Singapore,” I finally answered. “Why are you asking? Have you ever been there? Are you suggesting that I visit?”
What the Hell was wrong with me? I’d gone from practically grunting one word answers to throwing questions at my guest like an idiot.
“Business or pleasure?” I asked as I popped the top off my bottle and took a quick sip.
I was genuinely interested. I would never be confused for a world traveler, but I was always curious about places others took the time to visit.
“A bit of both,” Satan answered as a Devilish grin grew across his handsome face. “One should never visit Singapore without seeking out fun.”
I nodded like I had once heard that, when in reality, I probably couldn’t point out Singapore on a map. Don’t get me wrong, I had a general idea of where it was, but I certainly didn’t know anything about the place or where one would seek out a good time.
“So you visit all over the world for your…work?” I asked with a lot of hesitation before that final word because I really wasn’t sure how to refer to what the The Devil did when he wasn’t drinking my Snapple.
“Of course,” he answered and gave me a look like he suddenly feared my brain was no longer connected to the rest of my body. “Do you think I only collect souls in America and just leave the rest of the globe to the competition?”
He chuckled, sipped his iced tea, and awaited my reply with a raised eyebrow.
I shrugged and fiddled with the label on my bottle because I felt stupid. “I guess I just thought of you as a CEO who left the legwork to regional managers, who then went to you with deals to finalize.”
“That kind of command structure would work for a lot of executives, but I like being more hands on,” Lucifer explained. “The fun of it all is sitting down and negotiating face to face. I’d miss the thrill of that if I just retreated to my cushy corner office in Hell and only signed off on the deals.”
It made sense. I think I even envied him a little. He got to see the world and do something he loved, while I was chained to the same desk every day and hoped my brain wouldn’t melt from boredom.
“So why did you ask me about Singapore?” I prompted him to get my mind off of my job.
“I ran into a mutual friend last night,” he answered with another Devilish smile. “Guess who I met in a bar in Singapore after closing a deal.”
My mind drew a blank. Who the Hell did I know in Singapore? More so, who did I know who also considered The Prince of Darkness to be a friend?
“I’ve got no idea,” I confessed.
“Seamus,” Satan said excitedly like he knew the answer was going to blow my mind.
The Devil’s jaw dropped and he stared at me in stunned silence.
“That’s a little racist, don’t you think?” he berated me when he finally spoke again.
“Are Leprechauns considered a race?” I asked and dug myself an even deeper hole. “I mean, I’ve only ever seen two Leprechauns: Seamus and the one on the Notre Dame logo. They look exactly alike.”
I pleaded my case, but Lucifer shook his head in disappointment.
“That’s because Seamus’ great uncle was the model for the Notre Dame mascot,” he lectured me. “You’d know that if you listened to Seamus once in awhile instead of constantly nagging and belittling him.”
I knew better than to argue with The Prince of Darkness. “Seamus has been rather scarce around here lately. In fact, he never showed up yesterday to turn in his blog post about the Notre Dame game. What was he doing in Singapore?”
“Singapore has a surprisingly large Irish population,” Satan told me something else I didn’t know. “Seamus enjoys hanging out with his fellow expatriates. He likes it so much that he bought a bar. Apparently, it’s very popular with the Irish transplants.”
I just blinked repeatedly. I didn’t know what to say. Seamus, Maine’s lone Leprechaun and the blog’s Sports reporter, was one of my favorite Otherworldly Beings. I thought we were buddies. He’s slept off dozens of hangovers at The House on the Hill, and had thrown some pretty wild parties in my home.
“Seamus owns a bar in Singapore?” I asked in a stunned whisper.
“The Bar on the Hill,” I said stupidly.
Lucifer pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and wrote the name on a napkin. He then held it up for me to read.
“Sing O’Pour’s Sling,” he said as I stared at the napkin. “He thinks it’s a witty nod to Irish culture. The bartender makes a fantastic Singapore Sling, and the place is known for its live music. Mostly Irish music and U2 cover bands. It was packed with gorgeous Irish lasses last night. You might want to ask Seamus to introduce you to some of his customers. Couldn’t hurt given the current state of your dating life.”
The Prince of Darkness laughed and took a huge gulp of his Snapple.
I just stared out the window, and tried to wrap my brain around the idea that the only Leprechaun I knew owned an Irish bar with a ridiculous name halfway around the world.